


Be Here Now

by lilbluednacer



Series: Fear of Falling [5]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dance, Alternate Universe - Human, Eating Disorder Recovery, F/M, Lydia isn't ready for Allison to go to college, Mild Smut, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-08
Updated: 2018-11-08
Packaged: 2019-08-20 11:12:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16554707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilbluednacer/pseuds/lilbluednacer
Summary: It's their three month anniversary and Lydia is so happy she's terrified.





	Be Here Now

**Author's Note:**

> Girl time and soft Stydia, enjoy!

“What do you think?” [Allison](https://www.fashmates.com/set/allison-50-1540154780292) asks anxiously, pointing at two different bedding sets. “Feathers or polka dots?”

They're in the bedding aisle of Target doing college shopping for Allison, because this way they can both pretend that they're just doing another back to school haul. The pretense isn't really working though, Allison keeps spontaneously tearing up and Lydia can't fight the tightness in her chest, that this is real, Allison is really leaving her. She's doing her best to be gracious anyway, supportive, because that's what best friends do and Lydia's trying, she really is, even though it hurts. 

[Lydia](https://www.fashmates.com/set/lydia-50-1540154758671) considers them, debating between a cream colored duvet cover printed with delicate wispy navy blue and plum feathers or a soft sunny yellow one with lavender polka dots. “Feathers,” she decides.

Allison tilts her head for a moment before reaching out and grabbing the plastic wrapped set. “Yeah, I think so too.”

“Perfect.” Lydia pulls out her gel pen from where she stuck it through her bun and crosses out _bedding set_ on the list they made last night. “Come on, you still need towels, a shower caddy, a new blow dryer, and flip flops for the shower. You cannot take a shower barefoot at Davis, I read that the bathroom floors in dorms are positively teeming with god knows how many different kinds of bacteria, the last thing you want is to get toe fungus.”

Allison presses her palm against her forehead, looking overwhelmed. “I'm never going to remember everything.”

“Hey don't worry, I've got your back.” Lydia holds up her notebook. “The list has your back too. C’mon, towels, lets go, I'm on a deadline here.”

Allison raises an eyebrow as she follows Lydia over to the next aisle. “Where's he taking you?”

Lydia picks up a set of white towels and tosses them into the shopping cart. “Tapas La Luna.”

“Oooo, fancy.” Allison gives her an approving smile.

“It's not a big deal.” Lydia crosses _towels_ off her list and eyes a pack of washcloths before adding them to the contents of their shopping cart.

“Excuse me, it's your three month anniversary,” Allison says. “Kind of a big deal, Lydia.” 

“It's just dinner, can we not make this a big thing?”

Allison bumps her shoulder against Lydia’s. “It's just saying, it's okay to be happy.”

“I am happy,” Lydia says softly.

And she is, really. She's so happy she's terrified. It feels impossible, for something so good to last. But god does she want it to.

Allison raises a doubtful eyebrow. “Then why do you look like that?”

“Like what?”

“I don't know, all, like, scrunchy.” Allison points to her face. “Like you're worried about something.”

Lydia reaches up and smooths her fingertips over her forehead. “I just don't want to make a big deal out of it, okay?”

“But you're happy, right?” Allison presses.

Lydia nods, pressing her lips together. She's afraid to even acknowledge it sometimes, what she and Stiles have, how precious it is to her. It feels so fragile, this thing they're building together, like a flower that could shrivel up and die if not treated properly. It's easier to not talk about it, how deeply she cares about him, how safe she feels, how desperately she wants this to work.

She's so afraid of losing it. Losing him.

“Okay,” Allison says. “That's all I care about, you know that, right?”

Lydia swallows back a lump in her throat and manages to smile. “Yeah, I know.”

They finish shopping and check out, lug the bags out to the parking lot and load them into the trunk of Allison's SUV. Allison starts the car and lets the air conditioning run for a few minutes before pulling out of the lot, sliding a pair of sunglasses over her face as they drive into the late afternoon sun. Lydia kicks off her shoes so she can curl up in the passenger seat, trying to savor it while she can: driving in the car with her best friend, singing along with the radio, that feeling she only really gets around Allison, the person who knows her best, who's seen every shallow ugly side of her and chose her as her best friend anyway, who made Lydia believe in something bigger than herself - family, friendship, and connection all rolled up in one.

Allison saved her. Allison gave her Stiles, and Scott, friendship, Allison made Lydia want to be better, try harder, care about more than herself and ballet. She gave Lydia a real life.

And now she's leaving.

Allison drives Lydia to her mom’s house and parks in the driveway, catching her by the wrist after Lydia unbuckles her seatbelt. “Have a really good time tonight, okay? You deserve it.”

“Thanks,” Lydia says, feeling a little uncertain. She still hasn't forgotten the way she treated Stiles in the beginning, how she pushed him away, lied and evaded him when he was only trying to help her, drove herself to the edge of a cliff and forced him to watch her play chicken with death.

“Hey.” Allison looks a little concerned. “You do, okay? You know that, right?”

Lydia curls into herself, leaning her cheek against the headrest as her eyes fill with tears. “I'm really going to miss you.”

Allison pulls her in by the wrist and throws her arms around her in a tight hug. “Hey, it's going to be okay! We're going to text and FaceTime every day, and I'll come visit when I can.”

“It won't be the same,” Lydia sniffs.

“I know. But you're always going to be my best friend, okay? Nothing's going to change that.”

“Okay.”

“Hey.” Allison cups her cheeks in her hands. “It's going to be okay.”

“Promise,” Lydia insists.

“I promise,” Allison says dutifully. “Now go, you've got a date to get ready for.”

“Okay.” Lydia kisses Allison's cheek before sliding across the seat and opening the passenger door.

“Wear something hot!” Allison calls out, and Lydia laughs as she hops out of the SUV and shuts the door.

She lets herself inside and goes upstairs, enters her old room and stops, hovering by her bed - it's still so strange, that she doesn't live here anymore. Her eyes drift from her bed to the full length mirror across the room. She can still remember it, that feeling, waking up in the middle of the night, the broken glass splintering her reflection, blood dripping down her hand, her mother shrieking at her in horror.

Lydia exhales sharply as she slips off her flats. She's not that girl anymore, she reminds herself. She's stronger now, she doesn't let herself get consumed by secrets that eat at her from the inside out. She doesn't need to bleed and break, she doesn't need to starve her body down to its most fundamental parts to feel safe and in control.

She isn't that person anymore, she can't be. She doesn't want to be that person.

She wants to be better. 

Lydia unpacks the [dress](https://www.fashmates.com/set/lydia-51-1540154830426) she bought last week, it's a nice floral print with tiny straps. She changes into it and sits down at her vanity, plugs in her curling iron and puts on eyeliner and matte red lipstick while it heats up. She does her hair, shakes it out with her fingers until the curls are a little messy, in a sexy undone kind of way, and sprays a bit of Dior Addict over her wrists and throat. She grabs her Chloé bag and a pair of gold heels and goes downstairs just as her mother walks in the door.

“Hi sweetheart, how are you?” Her mother leans in to kiss her cheek as she drops her keys in the dish. “You look absolutely gorgeous.”

“Thanks.” Lydia sinks down on the bottom step to put her shoes on. “How's work?”

“Oh, fine.” Her mother slips her loafers off and puts them in the hall closet. “And you're starting at the company so soon, I can't believe it! Do you need anything, if you're buying new pointe shoes you should get them soon, you know you’ll need time to break them in before class starts.”

Lydia rolls her eyes. “I've been on pointe for six years Mom, I know.”

“I just want to make sure. Forgive your old mother for having a hard time with her only child being all grown up.”

“Oh my god Mom, I live like forty-five minutes away and I'll see you every Saturday, it's not like I went to New York.”

Her mother shakes her head. “The poor Yukimuras, they must be devastated.”

“Kira got into ABT, only one of the best companies in the country, I'm sure they're dealing.”

“You'll understand one day honey. You're never ready for your children to grow up.”

“Don't you think you're being a little dramatic?” 

“I'm telling you sweetie. You'll get it one day.”

“Okay,” Lydia says, trying not to roll her eyes, and then the doorbell rings.

Her mother answers the door, grinning as she steps back to open it wide. “Hello Stiles, come on in.”

Lydia's stomach drops as he walks through the door, he's dressed in grey slacks and a black button down, the sleeves rolled up, carrying a bouquet of red roses. “Hey,” he says, his eyes widening as he sees her. “Wow, you look beautiful.”

“Thank you.” Lydia takes the flowers from him, bending her head to smell them as she fingers a petal. “These are so pretty.”

“You like them?” he asks hopefully.

“Yeah,” she says softly, and tilts her face up to give him a soft kiss, careful not to smudge her lipstick.

Her mother clears her throat. “Here honey, why don't I go put these in water for you and you can get going, you don't want to miss your reservation.”

“Thanks, have a good night.” Lydia passes her the flowers and kisses her mother’s cheek, grabs her bag and reaches out to clasp Stiles’ hand. “I'm ready.”

“Okay.” He grins, his hand warm against her, heating up her entire body.

“Have a good time honey.” Her mother smiles and heads down the hallway, the bouquet cradled in her arms.

“Bye Ms. Martin!” he calls out, and opens the front door.

Lydia follows him outside and down the walk to the driveway where the Jeep is parked. Stiles opens the passenger door for her and helps her up, pausing as she gets into the seat, his hand resting on the roof of the car. “What?” she asks, feeling slightly self-conscious.

“Nothing.” Stiles shakes his head a little, smiling. “You just look really beautiful.”

Lydia smiles back, reaching out to hook her fingers through his belt loops. “You look nice too.”

He leans into the car a little to kiss her and Lydia softens against him, the world melting away like it always does when she's with him like this, before he clears his throat and pulls away, running his thumb along the edge of her bottom lip.

“Don't want to be late,” he explains ruefully, and shuts her door before jogging around to the other side and getting into the Jeep.

They hold hands over the gearshift as Stiles drives them through Beacon Hills, flipping on his headlights when the street lamps turn on. It's dusk outside, the sky a beautiful shade of deep indigo, warm fresh summer evening air coming in through the cracked window. Lydia wonders if this feeling will ever go away, this too-perfect movie magic feeling, and hopes against hope that it doesn't fade, that she gets to keep this forever.

When they get to Tapas La Luna Stiles valet parks, running his hand lovingly over the Jeep’s hood before slinging his arm around Lydia and walking her up to the hostess stand. When she offers them the option of eating outside Stiles raises an eyebrow at Lydia and she nods, shyly tucking back a strand of her hair behind her ear as they follow the hostess to a small section of outdoor tables, fairy lights twined through the wisteria bushes planted next to the sidewalk, a little flickering votive candle placed in the center of their table. Lydia gets seated across from him, her chair scraping against the sidewalk as she scoots it closer to the table.

He smiles at her, the lights throwing shadows across his face, and he lays his hand palm up on the varnished wood surface of the two-top. “Hey,” he says in a low voice that makes her shiver.

Lydia reaches out and lays her hand down on top of his. “Hey.”

Stiles curls his fingers over hers. “Happy anniversary, Lydia.”

She has to swallow through the sudden tightness in her throat. “Happy anniversary.”

His thumb strokes over the back of her hand. “How was girl time with Allison?”

Lydia shrugs, unwrapping her silverware with her free hand and dropping her napkin into her lap. “It was fine.”

He tilts his head. “You look sad.”

She blinks rapidly, it still shocks her how easily he reads her every emotion, how sometimes he knows what she's feeling before she does. “I guess I don't feel ready for her to leave.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” he agrees. “It's gonna be weird without her and Scott around.”

“Yeah.” She rolls her shoulders back, remembering the promise she and Scott made to each other. “I guess you and I will have to stick together then.”

Stiles grins. “I like that plan.”

Their waiter comes with glasses of water and offers to give them more time to look over the menu. Lydia flips hers over and starts to read, instantly overwhelmed at the amount of options. It's small plates, meant to share, and her heart pounds a little at the idea of having to do this, making choices for herself, she's so afraid she’ll make the wrong decision.

Across from her Stiles taps the fingers of his free hand against the table and raises an eyebrow at her. “Anything look good to you?”

She pulls her hand away from his, clenching her napkin in her fingers under the table. “I don't know.”

“That's okay,” he says easily, although he looks a little concerned. “What if I pick a couple of things I want to try and you tell me if that's something you want too?”

“Okay,” she says gratefully, pushing down a wave of shame that makes her cheeks flush.

“Okay.” Stiles glances down at his menu. “Um, caprese salad is always good, and I don't know how you feel about the baked goat cheese thing but I kinda wanted to try it if that's okay?”

“Sure,” she says, finding herself willing to agree to just about anything because she won't let herself ruin this, it's supposed to be a special night, a good night, it has to be. “Can we get a chicken plate? I need a protein.”

“Yeah, of course.” Stiles runs a finger down the menu. “They've got pincho de pollo, oh wait, nevermind, that's got mayo on it, what about the grilled lemon one?”

“Is that okay, do you mind?” she asks, hating how self-conscious she feels, wishing she was someone like Allison, who doesn't have any of these stupid fears, who can pick something out purely based on her own desires, who doesn't trip through a meal like it's littered with minefields.

Stiles gives her a look that's so gentle and patient it hurts a little. “Of course I don't mind. I just want you to be comfortable, you know that right?”

She presses her lips together and nods, looking down at her menu. “I know.”

“Hey, Lydia” -

“I'm sorry,” she apologizes abruptly. “Sorry, I'm being stupid.”

“Hey,” he says sharply. “You're not stupid, don't do that.”

“Sorry,” she apologizes again, ashamed. “This probably isn't the way you envisioned this going.” She rests her elbows on the table and pushes her palms against her forehead, hiding.

“Lydia.” Stiles gets up from his chair and walks around the table, bends over her and gently pulls her hands away from her face so she has no choice but to look up at him. “I just want to be here with you, okay? I knew what I was signing up for, I don't have some kind of unrealistic expectation that everything is going to be perfect all the time. You aren't doing anything wrong.”

“Okay,” she whispers softly.

“Hey.” He slides his index finger under her chin to tip her face up a little. “Do you want to go? If this is too much for you” -

“No!” Lydia reaches up to grip his forearms. “I don't want to go. I'm okay, I just got a little overwhelmed.”

“Okay.” He kisses her lightly on the lips and Lydia melts into him, her anxiety fading. He strokes the side of her face and pulls away, pressing his lips to her temple before walking around to his seat and sitting back down.

When the waiter comes back Stiles orders for both of them and Lydia takes a deep breath, trying to follow her therapist’s advice for when she gets like this - breathe and let herself be in the now, just keep breathing and allow herself to be here: sitting under twinkling lights, with Stiles, someone she adores more than she even thought she was capable of.

She's safe here.

She reaches back across the table and takes his hand again, watching the smile spread over his face as their fingers lace together. “Thank you,” she says softly.

He tilts his head, looking curious. “For what?”

“For being you.”

He squeezes her hand and ducks his head a little, like she's embarrassed him. “Now you're just stroking my ego.”

“No I'm not,” she insists, and then smiles mischievously. “But I can think of something else I'd like to stroke.”

Stiles gapes at her and then doubles over, laughing so hard his eyes tear up. “Is that an offer?”

“Well it is our anniversary,” she reminds him, absolutely delighted with herself. “Aren't we supposed to celebrate?”

“Oh yeah, definitely,” he agrees, and leans across the table to her. “But I was thinking maybe the other way around.”

Lydia presses her thighs together, inadvertently tightening her grip on his hand. “I don't see why it has to be one or the other.”

He wiggles his eyebrows at her, looking thrilled. “Now that sounds like a good plan.”

When their food comes Stiles takes a piece of bread and scoops it through the melted goat cheese, pops the entire thing into his mouth and groans. “Ohmagawd thasso good.”

Lydia laughs, reaching out to wipe a bit of it off his lip before popping her finger into her mouth and sucking. “Mm, I concur.”

Stiles swallows and goes still, watching her, and Lydia slowly pulls her finger out of her mouth. She smirks a little and he flushes, busies himself with filling a plate with caprese salad and chicken and sliding it across the table to her. Lydia catches his hand before he pulls it away and wraps her fingers around his as she begins to eat, tapping her thumb absentmindedly against the back of his hand. They fall into an easy rhythm as they work through their food, between bites they talk about the classes Stiles is thinking about registering for in the fall, their parents, what it'll be like when Scott and Allison leave for Davis.

Lydia doesn't even notice she's eaten all her food until she realizes they've cleared all the plates, surprised and pleased with herself. When their waiter comes by to check on them Stiles orders a jicama kale salad and another chicken dish to go so they can drop it off for his dad at the station. When the waiter returns with the boxed food he drops the check on the table and Stiles doesn't even give Lydia time to let her hand go to her purse, he whips out his wallet and counts out paper bills onto the table. Lydia slings her purse over her shoulder and stands up, grabs his hand when he reaches for her and walks down the sidewalk to wait for the valet to bring the Jeep around.

“Thanks for dinner,” she says quietly, leaning up against him, closer to his height in her heels but still a solid few inches below eye level.

Stiles slides his free arm around to the small of her back. “I like taking you out,” he says, and kisses her.

She kisses him back, letting herself soften against him, reaching up to rest her hands lightly on his hips. The valet has to loudly clear his throat for them to break apart, Stiles opens the passenger door and helps her into the car before jogging around to the driver's side and getting in. He glances sideways at her and smiles before pulling away from the curb; Lydia slides as close to him as she can get in her seat and leans her head on his shoulder.

“Hey,” he says, slowly down for a red light. “You tired?”

She turns her head so she can stamp a kiss on the side of his neck, right above his collar. “No.” She flicks her tongue out and slides it over a tendon, making him shudder. “Definitely not.”

“Lydia,” he groans.

“Green light,” she says softly, and pulls away.

When they get to the station Lydia hops out of the car after Stiles and follows him inside. She can feel eyes on her as Stiles walks them through the bullpen to his dad's office and it makes her feel a little self-conscious but then she realizes they're only curious of her because she's with him, the Sheriff's son, and because she's beautiful, so she straightens her shoulders and keeps her chin up. Stiles’ dad is waiting for them in the doorway of his office, reaching out eagerly to take the bag of food.

“Don't get too excited,” Stiles warns. “There's kale in there.”

The Sheriff groans good naturedly and claps Stiles on the shoulder before leaning over and kissing Lydia's cheek. “Hey sweetheart, don't you look lovely tonight.”

“Thank you,” she says, smoothing one hand over the bodice of her dress.

“Alright, well, I think we're gonna get going, you good, Dad?” Stiles asks.

The Sheriff peeks into the bag and makes a face. “You wouldn't happen to have a burger hidden in here, would you?”

“Dad!” 

“Hey, a man can dream. You two going back to the house?”

“Yeah,” Stiles reaches down and squeezes Lydia's hand. “So no need to worry about us, we're just gonna watch a movie.”

“Uh-huh.” The Sheriff raises a disbelieving eyebrow. “Alright then. Be safe, you two.”

“Dad!” Stiles yelps, his cheeks coloring. “Need I remind you we're adults here?”

“You’re still teenagers. In my house, unsupervised.”

“Oh my god,” Stiles mutters, looking mortified. “Can we please have this discussion another time?”

“I'm just asking that you use common sense, Stiles.”

“We will,” Lydia says quickly, pinching the inside of Stiles’ wrist.

“Yeah, yeah, of course we will,” Stiles says, leaning in to give his dad a quick hug. “Okay, we're really going now, have a good shift.”

“Alright, drive safe.”

“Da _ad_.”

“Lydia, tell your mom I said hello?”

“Of course,” she says, and gives him a polite smile before waving goodbye and rushing out of the station with Stiles.

“Oh my _god!_ ” he exclaims as soon as they go outside. “I'm sorry, that was so awkward. He's just like, overprotective, you know? And slightly inappropriate” -

“Stiles, it's fine. Don't worry, I can handle your dad. He's only like that because he cares about you so much.”

He pulls his keys out of his pocket as they approach his Jeep. “It probably doesn't help that the first time he met you we were, ah…”

“Hooking up on your living room floor?”

Stiles grins cheekily as he opens the car door for her. “That was a good night.”

Lydia tilts her head as she climbs into the Jeep. “Could've ended a little better though.”

He leans into the car and pushes her hair back from her face. “Make it up to you?”

She smiles. “I thought we already had a plan?”

“Trust me, I've got all kinds of plans.” 

Lydia raises an expectant eyebrow. “Well, what are we waiting for? Let's go.”

Stiles drives them back to his house with one hand high up on her thigh, under the skirt of her dress, the heat of his palm sinking into her skin, his fingers sliding higher and higher until he's stroking over the thin mesh fabric of her thong. Lydia swallows back a moan, watching him out of the corner of her eye as he cuts the wheel one-handed to swing the Jeep into the driveway. As soon as he shifts into park she unbuckles her seatbelt and throws herself across the console, straddling him as she slides her hands behind his neck and presses her lips against his.

“Hmm, hey.” Stiles kisses her back, grinning against her lips as he tries to talk around her mouth. “We can... go… inside.”

“In a minute,” she pants, letting her dress ride up her thighs.

He skims one hand down her side, toying with the hem of the skirt, looking incredibly pleased with himself. “Yeah?”

“ _Stiles_.” She rolls her hips impatiently. “It's not nice to tease.”

His eyes light up, a little mischievous, cupping her ass with his left hand as his right slides up the inside of her thigh. “Sorry,” he murmurs, tilting his head down to kiss the side of her neck. “You like it though, right?”

“Obviously.” She gasps when he pulls her thong to the side and walks his fingers underneath the fabric, jolting at his touch.

“Yeah I can see that,” he says in a strained voice when two fingers slide right in, making her stomach tighten in anticipation.

She curls over him, leaning her forehead against his, hands spreading out over his shoulders to brace herself against him. “Don't be an asshole.”

“I thought you liked that too.” He blinks up at her, faux-innocent, and flicks his thumb wickedly against her.

“Goddamnit,” she hisses, watching a smug smile spread over his face, heat curling around the base of her spine. She rocks against his hand, teeth clenched. “Just, just, c’mon already.”

He rubs his thumb in circles as she squeezes against his fingers, her body following the rhythm of his hand, single minded in her quest for pleasure, the beautiful relief of being taken apart by him, how good he always makes her feel, how easy it is, to let go with him.

To let herself fall.

She can hear herself moaning as he picks up the pace, chasing him, that heat, that promise of sweet oblivion. She's bouncing in his lap, fingernails digging into his shoulders, letting him take her higher and higher until she breaks, mouth dropping open in a silent cry as she shakes her way through it, his fingers relentless, until she has to drop her head down to his shoulder, gasping against the stiff fabric of his shirt as she rides it out.

He works her down slowly, his free hand stroking up and down her spine as she shivers, shifting her weight up on her knees when he withdraws his fingers and adjusts her underwear for her. She's still breathing a little heavy, lightheaded, blinking against the rush when she lifts her head. Stiles is giving her that soft affectionate look that makes her cheeks flush hot. She loves it when he looks at her like this, like she's some rare delicate beautiful thing; it makes her feel soft and open in a way that's both terrifying and exhilarating, every time. She can't deny the desire she feels to be that, for him, the thing he sees when he looks at her.

Soft things don't break. They bend.

They yield, they have resilience. Lydia's starting to wonder if that isn't its own kind of strong. A better, secret kind of strong.

“Hey.” He cups her face with one hand, his thumb soothing across her cheekbone.

She pushes into his palm a little and purses her lips hopefully. She still loses the words sometimes, like they've been buried deep inside her heart, rising to the surface a little more over time and maybe one day she'll be able to say them but she's a dancer and this is what she knows - how to talk with her body, how to pour her emotions into her movements instead of letting them spill out of her mouth.

He rewards her with a kiss, gently brushing his lips against hers. When he pulls away he peers into her eyes, curling his thumb under her jaw and the hand on her back slides up to wrap around her neck so she can't look away. 

“Hey,” he says again, and his voice is so tender, so light, that she could cry from this, the way he talks to her like she's something precious. His eyes are shining just for her and she gets a rush of nervous exhilaration, overwhelmed by a feeling that she knows exactly what he's going to say next. Stiles swallows audibly, his thumb still caressing her face. “I love you.”

Each word is said quietly and equally weighted, self-assured, and tears spill over her cheeks and onto his fingers. She blinks through them, fighting a wave of dizziness, and takes a deep breath, trying to remember what to do when she feels overwhelmed.

_Be here now._

“Hey, Lydia,” he says softly, concerned, but she shakes her head and chokes out a laugh through her tears, leaning forward to press her wet cheek against his. She takes another deep breath and reminds herself that every time she thinks she's going to fall he catches her, and lets herself be brave.

“Stiles,” she whispers, and presses her lips against the corner of his mouth, her heart beating rabbit fast in her chest. “I… I…”

She chokes on the words but it's okay because Stiles turns his head to the side and surges forward to kiss her, his hands holding her face, like he's trying to pour his soul into her mouth and Lydia drinks him up, sliding her fingers through his hair as he worships her mouth, kisses her until she has to pull away to gasp for breath.

“I know,” he says gently, his hands smoothing over her hair, her cheeks, her bare shoulders. “I know you do.”

“I _do_ ,” she says fiercely, because her need for him to know is greater than her fear of acknowledging it.

“I know,” he says again.

She gives him a watery smile and presses her face into his throat, breathing him in. His hands repeat their wandering pattern, up over her hair and around the sides of her cheeks, curling around her shoulders before skimming down her arms. He captures her hands in his and tugs slightly on them to get her to lean back, shadows cutting across his face as he shifts sideways to grab her bag for her.

“You ready to go in?” he asks softly.

She nods, words stacked up on top of each other in her throat, fragile promises of hope and love and forever that she's going to say out loud one day, when she's ready, but she's here now, safe and whole and loved and she knows the words can wait because Stiles already knows they're there, the way he always knows what's inside of her, all her deepest darkest fears and scars and shameful parts that he somehow, miraculously, loves anyway.

“C’mon,” he says, and helps her out of the Jeep, making sure she's balanced on her heels before following her out of the car.

Lydia tilts her head up to the sky, watching the stars twinkle benevolently above her, warm and content and buzzing with both arousal and overwhelming affection for this beautiful boy holding her hand as he leads her up towards his house and suddenly it's easy, to be in the moment, to take one deep breath after another and bask in his love.

There's nowhere else she'd rather be.


End file.
